


At Night, In Dreams

by laurpas



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Happy Ending, Meeting in dreams, Mutual Pining, tbaa glow bang 2016, the chantry is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurpas/pseuds/laurpas
Summary: Just as Bethany and Fenris begin to realize what they might have together Bethany is spirited away to the Circle and imprisoned. But although the lovers have been parted still they long for each other, and find a mysterious connection that may allow them to see each other once more...





	1. Slumber

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for TBAA Glow Bang 2016!  
> The art that goes with this story is the lovely mix by uchidachi, found here: http://8tracks.com/allison-orange/in-dreams
> 
> Also, I know this fic is super long (believe me, its a lot longer than i intended.) I couldn't figure out a good place to break it up into multiple chapter but I also didn't want to not break it up, so I've tried to roughly chop it up into a few places.

  He doesn't notice her at first. Even as he pushes the body of the slaver away from him and turns back towards the mercenaries he has tricked. There is blood on his gauntlet, tacky and copper-smelling, and around him the Alienage has fallen quiet.

  It is Hawke, the elder one, that he focuses on. She is there in the periphery, but until he sees her staff he pays her little mind.

  Hawke is beautiful and charming and funny. When he is not so consumed with thoughts of Danarius and seeking revenge, he notices this. Bethany is not nearly so obvious and yet, even after several flirtations from Hawke it is her younger sister that he finds himself thinking of so often.

  It is small, insignificant, things, like the funny little comments that she seems to think no one can hear. The way her eyes light up during a battle, the wicked smile that she gets on her face and the look of triumph when she fells someone half a foot higher than her. The speed with which she moves to hide her magic at the faintest whiff of a Templar. How she looks at Marian when she is hurt during a fight.

  Fenris tells himself that it is the fact that she is a mage, that makes him observe her so closely. That it makes her inherently more dangerous than everyone around them, save the witch or the abomination.

  He tells himself that he watches her for any signs of weakness and not for the way that she smiles sometimes, so soft and quiet one could blink and miss it. And certainly _not_ for the way his stomach feels, tight and a little buzzy, every time she sends one his way.

  But, though he is a strong man, staunch in his ideals, he does not even notice as his feelings towards the younger Hawke slowly begin to change into something far gentler.

  


  It is difficult not to look, to think of the elf, whether she is around him or not. Her elder sister takes him out for jobs frequently because of his skill and perhaps because she has seen the way that Bethany looks at him, even though, when questioned, she denies it fiercely.

  Men like him, she is certain, do not think twice about girls like her. And she still feels like a girl, living under her sister’s shadow. Isabela’s joking only makes it worse and whenever the pirate teases her about her innocence or tries to tell her something dirty Bethany finds herself incapable of looking at Fenris, heart filled with dread at what she might see on his face. Disgust perhaps or, even worse, pity. She loves Isabela, normally, but Maker help her she hates the pirate just a little during those moments.

  One night as they sit around Varric’s table in the Hanged Man playing Wicked Grace (Bethany would be the worst player were it not for Anders and Hawke who appear to be losing just as badly as her, or the fact that Isabela regularly cheats for her) she cannot help but ask Isabela about her experience.

  Hawke is a wonderful older sister but does not have much more experience than her and Maker forbid she ever ask her mother about sexual matters. If she is to learn anything she decides that it will be from the pirate.

  “...Men. Women. Elves. A dwarf in drag once, but I don’t recommend that.”

  “Oh,” Bethany says, not having anticipated any of that. Her face heats immediately, as it often does whenever she talks to Isabela.

  “Aw… you’re blushing!” Her voice is teasing but there is kindness there as well, the only thing that makes it bearable. Leaning forward she lowers her voice, her dark eyes alight with just a little bit of mischief. “Why? How many lovers have you had?”

  She hadn’t expected the question to be turned around on her and, a little shocked, stutters out,

  “I-I never--”

  “ _Isabela_ ,” she hears Fenris’ grave voice and her heart freezes. Maker, she really thought he was far enough down the table to not hear them and now he _knows_ she’s a virgin-

  “There’s no shame in it Fenris,” Isabela says, laughing before turning to Hawke, who has been attempting to ignore the conversation, “You’ve been holding out on the poor girl! Get her a night at the Blooming Rose. On me!”

  “That’s, um, very generous,” Bethany half-whispers, staring down at the wood of the table, making a half-hearted attempt to keep the peace, feeling mortified. It wouldn’t have been so bad, she knows that Isabela’s teasing is good-natured, were it not for the fact that Fenris has over head them. Maker, a few weeks ago she didn’t even know what the Blooming Rose was, how can she ever hope… She cuts the line of thought off quickly, refusing to give into self-wallowing.

  “I’m a giver,” Isabela grins, blatantly ignoring the glares that both Hawke and Fenris are giving her.

  The conversation turns soon enough, thank the Maker, and Bethany takes the opportunity to slip out to the back of the tavern for some cool air. Her blushing hasn’t stopped and she closes her eyes as she leans against the grimy brick of the building, trying to think of nothing.

  “Do not pay any heed to Isabela,” his voice comes from her right, so close that he might be leaning against her and so unexpected that she jumps a little.

  “Fenris!” She gasps, “I didn’t- Hear you.” He _is_ just inches away from her, standing much closer than he would normally. It occurs to her that it is very dark out here in the alley, the only light coming from the moon and the bar inside.

  “My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.” It is difficult to see his face, shadowed as it is, but he seems disappointed and just a little hurt that she might be scared of him.

  “No need, I just- Wasn’t paying much attention.” Her blushing has come back with a vengeance, both from the awkwardness of the situation and the fact that it is Fenris there, just a breath away from her. She can almost imagine them as lovers, come to steal a moment with each other in the darkness.

  A long moment of silence passes before Fenris clears his throat and says, “I spoke with Isabela, and I do not believe she will tease you any further.” He always chooses his words carefully, but this time she can almost hear him thinking his way through the sentence. “You need not feel any pressure to be like her.”

  “I’m not a child, Fenris, you needn’t-” She means to thank him, and instead that comes out of her mouth. It is just- She genuinely likes Isabela and it certainly isn’t the pirate’s fault she is so shy or awkward.

  “I do not think of you as a child.” She expects him to scold her, truth be told, but when he speaks it almost sounds… flirtatious.

   _Oh, sod off. That’s just the way his voice sounds._

“And what _do_ you think of me?” Her heart is beating against her ribs and she cannot help the small tremble in her hand as she waits for his answer.

  “...An admirable young woman,” he finally says. “Graceful, kind and strong.”

  Just as suddenly her heart stops and she finds it difficult to speak.

  “For what it's worth,” she finally replies, “I think you are a good man.”

  “I do not know that I would agree with you,” his voice is wry, “but I appreciate it nevertheless.”

  There is more silence then as Bethany waits for something, though what she does not know. When Fenris finally looks away and comments that they should go back inside she finds herself immensely disappointed.

  “Of course,” she says, nodding, and enters the door he holds open for her, stepping back into the bright lights and sticky floor of the tavern. When she looks back over her shoulder at him, however, there is a warmth there that she had not noticed in the dark.

  Her face remains slightly red the rest of the night, but she finds that she does not mind.

   

 

  When they finally make it out of the Deep Roads, bruised and battered, traumatized from what they have seen, Fenris does not much care that he is now comfortably wealthy. Money means little to him, besides as a way to pay for food, wine, and sword oil.

  Hawke had made some comment about getting the old family estate back and Fenris is pleased for her, as any friend ought to be. She is a good woman, and she and her family deserve to have their ancestral home back.

  He accompanies her to her home, intending only to say goodbye (and though he would deny it, see Bethany) before proceeding on to the dilapidated mansion he calls home. He is stopped in his plans by the commotion that is coming from inside the house.

  “Mother, it's okay,” he can faintly hear someone speaking through the doorway which stands open. Hawke, frowning, her eyes filled with confusion and concern, straightens up from her slouch and hurries forward. Fenris watches as she quickly moves into the doorway and disappears before following himself.

  The small hovel, used to only holding what remains of the Hawke family and Gamlen, feels almost claustrophobic. There are several Templars standing inside and when he sees two of them holding Bethany he steps forward, a growl stuck in the back of his throat. Bethany catches his eyes and shakes her head but while he steps back Hawke gets right in the face of one of the Templars, a blond man with heavy bags under his eyes.

  “What in the void do you think you're doing?” She asks, teeth bared and hands clenched.

  “Marian, please don't make it worse than it already is.” Bethany doesn't even try to move from where the Templars are holding her, instead attempting to appear as compliant as possible. “They know what I am. You can’t… I’m going with them.” Her words make her sister stagger back a little in shock but still she does not take them back.

  Marian turns back to Fenris then, eyes searching his. She knows that he has no love for mages, that he is a strong proponent of the Circles, but this is _Bethany_ for Maker’s sake…

  “Fenris,” she says, under her breath, her eyes wild and desperate, “Those slavers, your mansion…”

  He knows what she is asking of him. She wants him to save Bethany, to keep her sister from the Circle by whatever means possible. Just as she helped him, so she expects his assistance here.

  Fenris can feel his fingers twitch towards the handle of his greatsword even before her unspoken question and clenches his hand instead. He feels torn, pulled taut in several different directions.

  There is Hawke, desperate not to lose any more of her already diminished family.

  The Templar, the tips of his gauntlets digging into Bethany’s arm where they squeeze tight as if they have any right to touch her.

  And Bethany, staring at him with those big eyes, silently pleading with him to let her go, to not make any trouble.

  Hawke, he thinks, doesn't understand the magnitude of what she is asking him. But neither does Bethany. To ask him to stand aside, as she is dragged away from her family, her friends, _him_.

  Finally, however, he looks back at Hawke and makes himself say the words that his heart is screaming at him not to speak, “Your sister is a mage, and she belongs in a Circle.”

  Bethany is stronger than any other mage he knows. Stronger than the abomination or the witch by far and it is a bitter pill to swallow, that she is taken while they are left behind. But though he watches her as she is escorted out the door he does nothing else. Though his chest feels like a knife wound, an almost unbearable pain, he stands aside.

  Next to him Hawke remains, shoulders slumped and head hanging loosely. There are no words, nothing he can do now. He hears Leandra’s half-aborted cry of anguish and then, without another word to Hawke, flees their home.

  
  


  Hawke is inconsolable after Bethany is taken and Fenris, even on his best days, has very little skill in comfort. His hands are weapons, all of their muscle memory invested in causing hurt and pain. Had this been any other situation he would have immediately gone to Bethany for guidance and the irony only turns his mood fouler.

  He needs her, and she is gone.

  She needed him, and he did _nothing_.

  Fenris watched her walk out the door, spine straight and head held high and had been quiet. Wildly he thinks of how he could have killed all the Templars, could have taken her and run. He knows it's not what Bethany would have wanted but Maker, how could it have been worse than her being taken to the Circle?

  He stops, for a moment, his thoughts briefly settling. Bethany is a mage. She is where she belongs, where all mages are supposed to go. No matter that she is clearly strong enough to control her magic or that she is brave and kind and...

  He goes deep into the bottle that night, deeper than he has in a long time. There comes a point where he can no longer even taste the alcohol and all that he cares about is chasing that sweet unconsciousness where there will be no thoughts of Bethany or Hawke or his own raging feelings.

  Finally he finds it, sometime around midnight, and just as he slips into the darkness he thinks of the first time they kissed, of the smile she had given him after.

  


  There is a part of her that is terrified, belly roiling with dread as she is escorted through the gates of The Gallows. Though the Templars on either side of her have made no overt gesture, she feels their very presence as a physical threat.  This is the home of so many of her nightmares, the place where mages go and never return.

  Her only comfort is the fact that her mother and sister, along with all their friends, no longer have to worry about protecting her. She has spent so much of her life consumed by guilt and fear and there is something freeing in the fact that she will no longer have to look over her shoulder.

  She knows that it is the last feeling of freedom that she will have for a long, long while.

  The Knight-Commander comes to greet her and Bethany suspects that if the Templars on either side of her were not holding her so tightly, she might very well have collapsed. Meredith regards her coolly, and suddenly, Bethany is struck by the thought of how many mages the Knight Commander has seen Harrowed - how many have died at her hand. She wonders if the woman enjoyed it as much as her reputation would indicate. Bethany, though she might have said otherwise, has always found fighting thrilling. But this is something else entirely, and she makes a silent promise to herself to never be the object of Meredith’s anger.

  “You have never been Harrowed, correct girl?”

  The way that Meredith calls her ‘girl’ makes her grit her teeth but she just shakes her head.

  “No, Knight-Commander, I have not.”

  Meredith gives Cullen a significant look and Bethany feels herself grow faint.

  And then she remembers days of fighting bandits, Tal-Vashoth and giant spiders from deep within The Bone Pit. She remembers spilling open the guts of a slaver with the knife on her staff, fending off shades and killing blood mages. She is a Circle mage now but before she was Bethany Hawke, daughter of Malcolm Hawke, and she will not be cowed by these dogs of the Chantry.

   _“You are strong,”_ she remembers Fenris whispering to her. And when looks back up at the Knight-Commander, she feels it.


	2. The Astral Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title comes from the idea of a person astrally travelling or projecting themselves.

  He has the first dream several weeks after she is taken. Hawke has returned to the land of the living, going back out on jobs and attending Wicked Grace night, but something significant has changed in her. She invites people over to her mansion regularly, but never seems particularly proud of what she has attained. When the witch asks if she is happy about getting her ancestral home back Hawke simply shrugs and says, “It is a house, Merrill, nothing more.”

  She takes him out on just as many jobs as she did before they entered the Deep Roads but something irrevocable has changed in their relationship. There is anger in her eyes when she looks at him, deep and seething, and though she never says anything they both know that it is there.

  He blames himself almost as much as Hawke seems to and he dreams that night of watching himself, dressed in the Templar uniform, dragging Bethany away as she begs to be let go. To go back to her family, please, she can control her magic, she is strong,  _ he said that she was strong _ .

  Fenris wakes feeling upset and bleary and nauseous. He is still mostly drunk, he has to drink to get any sleep lately, and when he raises his hands to his face he finds that his cheeks are damp from tears.

  For a long time he lays in bed, staring up at the hole in his ceiling. He can see the stars through it, twinkling, and wonders if Bethany ever watchs the same night sky.

  And then he remembers that there are no windows in the Circle, no holes in any of the roofs, and he turns onto his side, curling up into a tight ball and trying not to think at all.

  
  


  The water is cold and salty, choking her, like hands around her throat, fingers in her mouth, air that burns rather than soothes. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the ocean water, but she is beyond crying out. She tries to spit out the water, just to  _ breathe _ , but it is hard, so hard. The water is insidious as it curls and sloshes around her, weighing down her limbs which already ache from fighting to stay afloat. 

  There are peaceful ways to die, but this is not one of them. This sense of dread, of hopelessness, that starts in the pit of her stomach and tries to eat its way out.

  She has never learned to swim. She never had to, having never lived near the ocean. She regrets it bitterly as her head begins to dip beneath the waves, as getting above the waterline becomes more and more difficult. 

  She needs to breath. She  _ needs  _ it. Every muscle, every fiber of her body is screaming at her, an overwhelming cacophony that forces her mouth open even though she is underwater completely. This time when she inhales there is no air and she can almost feel the salt burn its way down her airway, can feel the heaviness in her chest as her lungs pool with sea water.

  She thrashes, fighting until she can fight no more. Until she comes awake, shaking and sweating, tangled in the sheets of the small bed that is now hers. Carefully, still trembling slightly, she burrows back under the blankets and tries to pretend as though everything is alright.

  It is appropriate, she thinks, that she begins to dream of herself drowning. She certainly feels that way, in her waking hours. There is so much to learn, so many rules to follow, and the mages around her are made wary by the fact that she was an apostate so long. The Templars are worse, however, by far. The best of them look at her with distrust or with pity. The worst are like Ser Alrik, who gazes at her with a wolfish hunger which sets her teeth on edge.

  She makes sure to never be alone with him or any of his lackeys.  

  Nightmares are not uncommon in the Circle, though she suspects that it has more to do with the environment than the fact that they are all mages. She hides hers well enough, she thinks, not wanting to draw too much attention.

  That night she has one of her drowning dreams again, and it begins like all the others. She is already in the water, panting and trying hard to stay afloat, a sturdy dock just feet away from her. She had tried to swim to it, tried to climb on top of it so many times that she has lost count. It sits there, taunting her as she eventually loses the strength to fight and gives into the water, letting her slip beneath it. 

  But this night, unlike all the other nights, she sees a figure beginning to move down the docks and towards her.

 

  He does not know where he is, only that he is standing at the end of a dock on a beach that seems vaguely familiar and yet not. He can hear the sound of splashing from further up and, knowing nothing else, he begins to walk towards it. 

  His dreams are never this vivid or this colorful and a part of him is concerned that this one is. What does it mean, that suddenly the water is blue where, normally, it would be grey to him? That he can feel the sodden boards of the dock beneath his feet, the moisture dampening him? He takes a moment to look around, carefully, to assure himself that he is truly in the Fade. Of course his last memory is of passing out in his own bed so this has to be it, but everything feels so _ real. _

  It looks a lot like the Wounded Coast, the sandy hillocks with sparsely growing weeds, the water lapping gently against the shore and the outcroppings of rock. 

  And yet, it is not.

  The sound of someone flailing in the water grows louder and Fenris, drawn away from his observations, increases the speed of his steps. They sound like they are in trouble and as Fenris gets closer he realizes that he knows the person in the water.

 

  “Fenris! Help me!” It is Bethany shouting at him and he feels his heart stop for a moment before racing forward. He knows he is in a dream, but the quality of it is so strangely real, his conscious thoughts dictating his movements in a way that they never have before. He drops to his belly on the dock, the wood flat against his stomach, and leans down as best he can, hands out-stretched. 

  Her hands reach up and brush his, only to slip out of his grasp as a wave washes over her and she briefly disappears below the water again.

  “Bethany!” He nearly dives off of the dock himself, terrified (but this is a dream, isn’t it? its not real, an illusion, but those eyes of hers, they burn the way they did in life). 

  She comes up again, briefly, and he doesn’t let her get away this time, grasping onto her forearm with all of his might and pulling her upwards. She is so heavy he can feel his arm wrenching as he pulls her up but, despite the pain that rips through his shoulders, he doesn’t stop until they are both on the deck, gasping for air. 

  Everything hurts in a way that is far more visceral than his usual nightmares and as his breathing begins to fall back into its normal rhythm he can feel the dread in his belly begin to build. He does not know what this means, any of these feelings. Though Hawke always calls his fears unfounded he cannot help but wonder if some strange magic is afoot- What other explanation could there be, for such things?

  And then Bethany, or the dream version of her, is moving, and he finds himself helpless to do anything but grasp onto her, a primal fear that she will leave him again taking over.

 

  Bethany lets herself be held by Fenris, or rather this illusion of him, for just as long as she can stand it. She wants him to be real so badly, and she knows that is exactly the reason she is seeing him now.

  Even knowing that the apparition before her is likely a demon, it takes a long moment for her to pull away from him, putting as much space as she can between them. 

  “Bethany,” he says, the ache in his voice obvious. 

  She squares her shoulders and replies, “I know how you’ve come to tempt me, demon.  But I will not fall for your tricks.” 

  The apparition appears startled by her words and frowns deeply, much as he did in real life. When the demon that wears Fenris’ face does not respond, however, Bethany makes a noise of disgust and then struggles back onto her feet. She does not look back as she begins marching down the docks and towards the sandy beach, leaving a long trail of water behind her, refusing to let herself be tempted anymore. She will wake up eventually, she knows, but for now thinks it best to avoid him altogether.

  “Bethany!” He calls after her, and when she does not respond he gives chase, grasping her arm tight to keep her from leaving him. She jerks against his hold and then glares up at him. He looks as if she has punched him and she can feel her own stomach pitch in unwilling sympathy. 

  “I am sorry,” he says, and his voice comes out as a croak. “I am so sorry I let them take you.”

  She stares at him, and wonders, for a moment, if perhaps he is not a demon but simply a snippet of her imagination, telling her things that she had not known she wished to hear.

  “Let me guess,” she replies, tone caustic, “Just let you in and you’ll reunite us?”

  She watches as a look of genuine confusion comes over his face.  At least, she reminds herself, it  _ looks _ like genuine confusion - she knows she cannot trust anyone here. Least of all him.

  “No,” he finally says, “I only wished to apologize.” 

  He lets go of her arm then, looking lost and sad and confused.

  There are no Templars escorting her now, but the look in his eyes is much the same as it was the day that they came for her.

  
  
  


  Hawke brings him to help Feynriel, and he wonders if she is purposefully punishing him. He has never refused to take a job just because it specifically helps a mage, but she must know his feelings on the matter. They were close once, he thinks, back before Bethany had been taken. But they have both been so hurt by it and cannot seem to help but hurt each other.

  When he turns on her, falling prey to the promises of the demons, she uses it against him mercilessly. He might fight back, except that he knows he deserves it for betraying his friend. 

 

  “What were you saying, Fenris, about mages being weak?”

  “I am sorry for what I did, Hawke.” Even as he speaks he can feel himself drooping, his eyelids fluttering closed. He is tired, so tired. Nightmares plague him, when he can get any sleep. And when he cannot he is consumed with thoughts of Danarius, the fact that he has not yet come for him again, of his failures and of his loneliness. 

  “It would appear that anyone can fall prey to the lures of demons.” She continues, as if he had said nothing. Isabela and Varric are behind them, wisely keeping quiet. When Hawke is in one of her moods it doesn’t pay to try and stop her.

  “I never denied that, only that mages were far more often the targets.” The statement, a fact, should quiet Hawke but it doesn’t. 

  “Ah, yes, and the way we deal with that is by locking them all up, taking them away from their families. I’m surprised that you didn’t immediately try to send Feynriel to the Circle.”

  He bites his tongue, even though refusing to respond has only made Hawke angrier in the past.

  “Well at least you can sleep at night knowing that Bethany is in the Circle. Dangerous, unstable Bethany, who-”

  “Hawke,”

  “ _ Hawke _ -”

  Isabela and Varric both speak up, either having had enough or because they know what that statement will do to Fenris. It seems to quiet their leader, but not before she turns to Fenris and mutters, “I bet you’re glad she’s in there. I bet you went home and drank in celebration the day she was taken away.” Her eyes are not like Bethany’s but they cut into him just as deeply, her lips curled back over a barely contained snarl. 

  Fenris, in his time, has learned to take verbal abuse that would break other people with a calm face, with not so much as the twitch of his ears to indicate that he might be affected at all. He knows that he could draw on that control now, that he could ignore Hawke so matter how much it might kill him on the inside. 

  But she has to know.  She has to know how he feels.

  He turns on her and the entire group stops moving, suddenly tense. In his periphery he can see Varric and Isabela exchange worried glances.

  “The night that Bethany was taken to the Circle,” he says, the tips of his gauntlets digging into his palms as he squeezes his fists, “I went home and drank myself into unconsciousness. I could not deal with the memory of that look upon her face. I could not deal with the fact that I had let her go. That she was gone, that I would never see her again.” He finally looks back up at Hawke, staring at her, keeping her gaze despite the discomfort that builds. 

  “I  _ loved  _ her,” and though he has never said it aloud, never admitted it even to himself, he knows that it is true. “I still do.” Finally saying the words, finally recognizing them, makes him feel strangely hollow and light. For so long he has denied them but now… He cannot say he is happy, because he is not. There is no happy ending here, when the woman he loves is locked in a tower he has no hope of scaling, behind bars he cannot simply phase through. But at least he is being honest now.

  There is complete and utter silence after his statement but before anyone can say anything Fenris marches away, no longer interested in conversation.

  
  


  She is tired, so tired that even in her dreams she is exhausted. More and more good mages, ones that have been properly Harrowed, are being taken and turned Tranquil and every waking moment has been spent avoiding Templars or trying to appease them. 

  Though she is an Enchanter now it seems to matter little. A good friend of hers, another Enchanter, has disappeared and she knows in her heart what has happened to them. Though she may never comment herself she listens to the whispers, the things that the other mages say to each other, late at night when they think no one can hear them. 

  Spirit healers executed for blood magic. Mages that have become abominations but which none of them have seen for themselves. The ones who are taken into solitary but never seem to emerge…

  She is sick, constantly, her anxiety leaving her nauseous and shaky, though she only lets herself tremble when she knows no one can see her. Her heart picks up just a little whenever a Templar looks at her too sharply and if one stops to question her about something she is everything that is obesience. 

  The scraping and groveling, while exhausting, is ultimately necessary. Only the living know victory, Fenris had once told her. Sometimes, though she would deny it fiercely if questioned, she wonders what victory there is to be had in this terrible place, or if living is truly the boon it is supposed to be.

  Asleep now, she is standing in Fenris’ mansion, a place that she has only been to once when they first met. Slowly she ascends the stairs, her movements sluggish from fatigue, holding onto the banister and then making her way down the hallway. There is something tugging at her just beyond the last door, and although her dreams are rarely pleasant now she follows this instinct anyway.

  She opens the door slowly and peers into the room before her.

  It is Fenris’ room, or so she assumes. There is his sword set against the wall, next to a fire that is crackling heartily. On the floor is a heavy mattress piled thick with pillows and blankets, almost like a nest.

  Without much thought she slips off her shoes and then her outer robes, dropping them to the ground as she approaches the bed. When she sinks down into it, pulling several of the blankets tight around her, she realizes that it smells overwhelmingly of Fenris.

  She sighs quietly and then, within her own dream, lets herself rest.


	3. Revelations

  This time when he dreams he is standing just outside the door to his bedroom. For a moment he almost believes himself to be awake, the dream is so vivid, but having just spent a significant amount of time in the Fade he knows the crumbling walls around him and the moldy floor underneath him to be an illusion.

  He steps to the door and opens it, seeing his room, his bed, and in it someone that is most certainly not him. 

  Stepping quietly, so as to not awaken the sleeping person, he makes his way to it. He is unsurprised to find Bethany in his dream, given his fight with Hawke earlier and just sighs quietly, resigned to whatever new torment is waiting for him. Or perhaps his punishment is this, getting Bethany in his dreaming state while having no hope of ever having her in his waking life. 

  He knows that the best he will ever have will be this facsimile of her. So he sheds his armor and climbs into the bed behind her, holding onto her as he was never truly able to do in real life.

  The illusion then moves against him, appearing to wake up, and turns startled eyes to him.

  For a long time those eyes, intelligent and wary, watch him. And then she says:

  “Oh Maker of All… Fenris.  Fenris.”  Her breath shudders out of her, and she bites her lip.  “I don't care if you are a desire demon, I've missed you so, Fenris.” Tears cloud her eyes and she rapidly blinks them back. “The Circle is so…”

  She trails off, looking down at the space, small as it is, between them.

  “I have missed you as well,” he says, swallowing heavily. He does not understand this - Bethany’s words or how it is that she feels so real. And then he thinks of Feynriel, of his abilities, and he feels his heart stutter.

  He is no mage, and Bethany had always seemed to lean towards elemental magic. And yet…

  He raises a hand to cup the side of her face and is shocked by how warm and smooth it is, how terribly real it feels.

  “I know that I am dreaming,” he says, “and yet you seem so  _ real _ .”

  Bethany blinks at him, sitting up and frowning. “Of course I am real -  _ You  _ are in my dream.”

  “Or you are in mine.”

  The two stare at each other for a long time, hesitant to believe in something that seems so fantastical. 

  “In the Circle…” Bethany starts, hesitating, “I have heard of mages that could… Alter the Fade, could enter the dreams of others.”

  “ _ Somniari _ .”

  “But I'm not… I did not intentionally enter your dream. I just fell asleep and-” 

  “I do not understand how we might have found each other either. But,” Fenris says, “If it is truly you… I cannot be sorry for it.”

  Bethany stares at Fenris, feeling her heart swell.

  “That day when you were on the docks-” 

  “And I pulled you out of the water, yes.”

  It really is her, perhaps not in the flesh but in the spirit at the very least. 

  She smiles at him then, and it is like so many of the ones that he remembers.

 

  “Perhaps,” he says sometime later as they lay wrapped up in each other, pressed against another, “We can learn to control this.”

  She is a mage and with his lyrium he can travel in ways that others cannot. But this should still be an impossibility. They should not be able to find each other like this, should not be lying next to each other. And yet, they are. And they both cannot help but be grateful for it.

  “I would like that,” she sighs, “To visit you, and my sister and mother of course. I've missed them terribly.”

  He swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “They have missed you as well. I sometimes see your mother in the Chantry, praying for you.”

  “More likely praying for my sister,” Bethany snorts and then turns a curious gaze to him. “You go to the Chantry?”

  “Sebastian and I… Talk sometimes. He gives me a great deal to think on.”

  Bethany looks forward again, staring at the fire.

  “I always liked Sebastian,” she says softly. “I am glad he is your friend.”

  Fenris isn't sure that the Brother would actually consider him a friend, but the point is unimportant. He does not want to argue with Bethany or disappoint her, when it seems like they have so little time together.

  “I like him as well,” he responds. He is not usually given to idle chatter like this but he just wants to keep her talking, to hear her voice. “What of the Circle? Have you…” His mind reaches, “Made any acquaintances?” 

  She hesitates and he realizes suddenly that she probably does not want to speak of it. Still she tells him, mostly about the apprentices she teaches now, of the ones she is so proud of and the ones that need more work. In return he tells her about Kirkwall, all of the things that she has missed while she has been gone.

  They speak for a long time, as long as they can, both knowing how precious each second is.

  
  
  
  


  They are walking along the Wounded Coast when Hawke asks him to hang back with her so that they can talk. His stomach fills with dread at the look the rogue is giving him but he nods his head calmly enough.

  “Yes?”

  “I didn't know about you and Bethy,” She finally says, eyes still hard. She looks away then, suddenly, but not before Fenris sees the deep, wrenching sadness in them.

  “If I had I wouldn't have… I was so angry and I…” She lifts one shoulder into a careless shrug but her face is filled with so much shame and regret that it is a wonder that she does not choke on it. “I've been a shit friend, blaming you for things you never did. That I  _ know  _ you wouldn't have done. Can you ever… Not hate me for it?”

  Fenris wonders if Bethany has succeeded in entering her sister's dream. This is probably only the second or third time he has seen Hawke apologize for anything and it is easy for him to imagine Bethany shaming her into treating him better.

  “I do not hate you, Hawke. I understand what it is to lose something precious, to be filled with rage.” And yet he knows that without her sincere apology he could never have forgiven her. “Thank you.  However, I…”

  Ahead of them Anders calls out a warning, stopping their conversation. They are slavers and Fenris briefly frowns before smiling grimly. Good - this trip to the Wounded Coast will not entirely be a waste.

  
  


  That night, in the wake of Hadriana’s death, he drinks so much that he loses sight of everything except his own rage, trying desperately to reach unconsciousness, to blot everything else out. After running away from everyone in the slave pens he had come straight home and no one had been by to check on him. Small mercies, given his condition.

  And yet when he opens his eyes again to find himself in the Fade he sees  _ her _ there.

  Bethany has to stoop her head a little because of the low ceiling and frowns, squinting in the dim light. There is a torch burning against the wall but he is surprised even by that.

  He knows where they are. The dank, stone walls. The iron chains which come off of the walls - the manacles which now encircle his wrists, the cold metal digging into the flesh there.

  Leaning back against the wall, he closes his eyes and tries to will all of this away. There are two ways that this can go, as far as he can tell. Either the mimicry of Bethany before him will abuse him just as Hadriana did or the Bethany in front of him is real and will see him… Like this.

  In his heart he knows that she would never think lesser of him, for what was done to him. But she does not  _ know _ everything- And his pride cannot stand the thought of the woman he loves pitying him.

_ Such a proud, noble beast,  _ he can almost hear Hadriana whisper to him as she rakes her long nails across his flesh,  _ but still a wild animal, best kept in chains.  _

  “Fenris? I fell asleep and I…” Slowly, carefully, Bethany approaches him, her eyes wide with concern. She hadn't been particularly tired but it was as if something had called her to bed, to sleep.

  She knows that this has to be one of his dreams they have fallen into and she swallows heavily, looking around warily for any magisters. None of their dreams have ever included other people but if this was more nightmare than dream…

  “Bethany,” he says, and the parched throat, the agonizing hunger in his belly, is just as real as he remembers it, “Leave. Wake up.”

  “No,” she replies and then strides forward with more purpose, only to kneel before him. Picking up his hands, the chains shifting and clinking as she does so, she says softly, “I will not. This is your dream- you just need to dream… Differently.”

  He wants to snap at her, to snidely comment that he has never thought of just wishing the nightmares away, but restrains himself. He is  _ not  _ some mindless animal, only brought to heel with force and abuse. And Bethany does not deserve his anger.

  “Try,” she says, staring at him, as if she can read him so clearly. 

  And so he tries. He is no mage, and trying to make something reality from his thoughts is strange and foreign to him. For several minutes he makes an attempt, only to eventually sag back against the stone wall and give up.

  Bethany is looking at him thoughtfully, and this time he cannot keep the scowl off his face. He wants her to go,  _ now. _

  And then, suddenly, the door to the small cell creaks open. The only thing he can see is a pair of slippered feet but he recognizes them instantly, having knelt before them so many times before.

  Danarius.

  When he was a slave he believed Hadriana to be his worst nightmare. He knows now that she was merely being used to make him grateful for Danarius, for the small mercies such as one meal a day or water. 

  “Bethany,” he says again, this time his tone brooking no argument, “ _ Leave _ .”

  But if he thinks that he can make her do anything it is only because he has forgotten that she is a Hawke. For as quiet and sweet tempered as she is she is also every bit as stubborn as her sister.

  “That's him, isn't it?” she says, still kneeling before him but having turned her head back to look. Her hands are gripping his now, trembling slightly, and he realizes that it is in anger. Over  _ him _ .

  Bethany knows that killing this dream version of his former master will do nothing, but she wants it with a ferocity that only slightly surprises her. Still it is better that they leave, especially as the figure begins approaching. She turns back to look at Fenris and leans her forehead against his, feeling the sweat and the warmth of his skin.

  “Imagine your room,” she says as she closes her eyes. She can feel his brow furrow in concentration, just as hers is surely doing. “The fire in your hearth, your bed- The big blankets, the one that smell a little like dust and the spot where the straw pokes through-” He can almost see the things as she begins to describe them, can begin to feel soft bedding beneath him rather than stone.

  They can feel the Fade begin to ripple and churn around them as they apply their collective wills and there is a sense of both relief and fear. The fact that they keep meeting in dreams is strange enough, but for them to somehow be able to shape the Fade together…

  When Fenris raises his head again he finds that they are in his room, or the Fade’s approximation of his room. There are no longer chains around his wrists and he is wearing his armor again. Though his heart is still racing from what they have done, what he realizes they are now capable of, he would much rather be here than in those dark, stinking slave pens. 

  “Are you alright?”

 He blinks and looks up to see Bethany watching him, her dark eyes intent. For a moment he goes completely still- He knows the answer to that question but it is not the one that he wants to give her. She doesn’t need any more pain from him, shouldn’t have to shoulder his burden. 

  “...Fenris,” she says with a sigh and then, unexpectedly, moves to embrace him. It is a little awkward as he is still sitting down, leaning against the wall and although the points of his armor are jabbing at her she doesn’t complain. For a long moment he doesn’t move, warring with himself about whether he should push her away or not, when he finally he moves his arms around her and crushes her against him, burying his face in her neck.

  “I killed my former master’s apprentice today.” He says, his voice so low it is almost a whisper. “She came for me, and I killed her.”

  Bethany goes still, waiting for Fenris to continue. There is a part of her that approves, that wants to congratulate him but she knows that he is not finished speaking. 

  “I should be happy,” he tells her, and her heart aches for him, that he is not, “But instead I find myself filled with hate and rage and I do not know how to rid myself of it. It lives in me, a constant reminder of all that they have done to me.” 

  She thinks of losing her father, of watching the ogre crush Carver. She thinks of being taken away from her family, her life, and imprisoned in the Circle. Though she knows it is nothing like what Fenris has experienced still she thinks she can understand. And what she understands, most of all, is that there are no words that can make what has happened better. 

  His hold around her tightens automatically when she moves and, closing her eyes, she says, “Come to the bed with me, Fenris. Please. Let me hold you.”

  Finally he lets go of her, only to follow closely behind her to the nest of blankets that constitute his bed. Her presence does not undo all that has happened to him but he finds, when they settle around one another, that he does not feel nearly so alone in his pain.

  
  
  


  Hawke has set a punishing pace but no one in her party is complaining. Around them their city burns, the smell of smoke and the sound of steel clashing in the air. They have made their way through Lowtown, cutting down any Qunari they see and trying to herd civilians away to safety. The Grey Wardens refuse to help them and Hawke spits at them before forcing everyone to keep going, the movement of her daggers even more furious than before.

  They make it to Hightown when suddenly Hawke stops and Fenris looks up, stomach twisting at what they might find before them. 

  It is the Circle’s Senior Enchanter, Orsino, and laying on the ground before him-

  She raises her head, blinking groggily as if having just woken from a nap. Orsino is admonishing her for something but she stops listening to him as soon as she realizes that her sister is standing just feet away and, next to her, Fenris.

  Hawke does not say anything, just rushes past Orsino and sweeps her sister up into a hug that looks so crushing that Fenris can feel a sympathetic twinge from his own ribs. Bethany is completely unprepared and briefly struggles against her sister before stopping. 

  “Marian, the city is under attack-” Finally her sister relents and pulls away, eyes glassy looking.

  “Of course,” she quips, “You’re only just my sister, who I haven’t seen in three years.” There is a small lopsided smile on the side of her face but it doesn’t look quite right, as if put there by a painter who has only ever had a smile described to him and never truly seen one.

  Bethany swallows at the jab, not knowing how to respond. She has learned to survive in the Circle, has tried to make it her home, knowing that she will never escape it. 

  “I need to return to the other mages. You should… Move on.” Briefly her eyes move to Fenris who is staring at her with an expression on his face that she is having trouble interpreting. He looks at once happy, and sad and somehow indignant as well but then she averts her eyes, looking at her sister again.

  “ _ Go,  _ Marian,” and then she steps away, moving to Orsino’s side and disappearing into the ash and rubble without a backwards glance. 

  
  
  


  Hawke kills the Arishok, and is hailed a hero. 

  The rest of the Qunari surrender or are killed, and Kirkwall is considered safe once more.

  He goes back to his mansion in Hightown and watches as it rots around him, doing nothing to prevent it but no longer reveling in its destruction as he had when he was a younger man. What is the point? It does not hurt Danarius, for some estate he once owned and clearly no longer cares about to slowly erode away. 

  He goes on jobs with Hawke and waits for Danarius to come for him, tries to fight past the exhaustion that his hated of the man brings him. He drinks too much and, for a while, stops dreaming.

  And then, one night, he does again.

  He finds himself in Hawke’s home, not the one she lives in now, so large and so empty, but the small hovel that she had shared with her mother and sister and Gamlen. The dream has the waking quality of all of those that he has shared with Bethany and so he is unsurprised when he sees her seated form in front of a small fire, slowly stirring something in a pot.

  “I tried not to,” she says, voice soft, “I’m sorry.” Though he cannot see her face he can hear the sadness, the resignation in her voice.

  “Tried not to..?”

  “To dream of you. Of us. It’s selfish of me, to drag this out. To keep you. I will never be free of the Circle but you don’t have those restrictions. You should…” She takes a deep breath, “You could have a life in Kirkwall. Could have a family. We will never have that together.”

  He doesn’t know what to say to her. She is obviously upset, but he does not know how to fix it. He thinks of what she did, when he needed her comfort so desperately, and walks towards her slowly only to stop when she tenses. 

  “I think,” she says, “If we both actively try to stop dreaming of each other, we won’t.”

  He realizes that he is a fool. She does not want his comfort- She wants him to leave. 

  “As you wish,” he says, voice as calm as ever. He could wail and gnash his teeth, he knows this, but his pride and, more importantly, Bethany’s wishes prevent him. 

  He turns from her then to look at the front door of the hovel and remembers how the Templars looked, having to force their armored bodies through the narrow space of the door, the way that Bethany had looked, so small in comparison. 

  His chest aches for all that he has lost, for all that he will never have because of circumstance. He is so sorry that things have come to this, but he knows that no one, not Bethany and certainly not him, chooses their fate. 

  He does not look behind him and instead steps forward, out the door.


	4. Awakening

 

  Things grow worse in the Circle. Mages disappear and while she knows some have escaped she is even more certain that most have not. Meredith and her men see blood mages and abominations around every corner, in the apprentices, in the harrowed mages and even amongst the ranks of the enchanters.

  Her days are shadowed by fear, by the knowledge that the apprentices she teaches magic to one day may not be there the next. The Circle has always been a quiet, funereal place but now it is even more so. Every breath in a struggle, with such an oppressive atmosphere and she can see the effects of this in the other mages, the ones who weep and shake in fear from their nightmares, from their reality. The Templars she passes, when she dares look up at them, have this wild look about them, their eyes bloodshot and skin pallid. Sometimes she hears the faint voice of the Knight Commander screaming though she rarely has to see the ranting and raving herself. Orsino grows more quiet by the day, all talk of compromise and change lost behind lips that are now perpetually turned down into a grimace.

  She knows that something bad is coming, that things cannot forever continue like this. It’s like the scent of a storm, before the clouds have even appeared.

  And then, one day, they do.

  

  

  

  She doesn’t think about Fenris as she hurriedly walks beside Orsino, struggling to keep up with him as they walk to the center of Hightown. The last time they had found each other in dreams had been over two years ago and, though she still feels an ache in her chest when she thinks about him, she hopes that he has taken her advice and tried to give himself a life.

  But for now she is consumed by other thoughts. Beside her Orsino is muttering angrily under his breath and as they turn the corner and she sees the Knight Commander and her cronies she can feel the fear inside her, feel it choking her

   _Please_ , she thinks, _Maker, do not let this end in bloodshed._

  The arguing between Orsino and Meredith begins immediately and becomes vicious just as quickly. Their resentment towards each other is a wound that has been left festering for so long it has become rotted, unsalvageable. Bethany says nothing, standing tensely at Orsino’s side and occasionally eyeing the other Templars. She cannot see their eyes for their helmets and she has never felt more unnerved by this fact than in this moment. Meredith’s face is plain to see, however, those cold eyes, looking down her nose at the Grand Enchanter. Orsino is gesturing wildly, trying to convince Meredith of his position, but she does not move an inch, as still as any statue.

  And then, running up the steps in her Champion’s armor, is her sister Marian Hawke. Her heart sinks, not knowing why she is here but worried that it will only make things worse. Bethany’s eyes search out her other companions, Aveline, Anders, Fenris…

  They lock eyes for a brief moment before she looks away, hoping that he will do the same.

  “This does not involve you, _Champion_ ,” Meredith’s words drip with disdain as she turns towards Hawke. It is no secret that the woman, though a rogue, is a fervent supporter of mage rights and the fact that she is such a prominent figure only makes this more unforgivable to Meredith.

  “I called her here,” Orsino says as he steps forward. “The people will know what you have done.”

  Bethany’s head whips around to stare at him, feeling confused and betrayed. Orsino has said nothing to her about contacting her sister and she cannot fathom why he would hide this from her. Her mind whirls as Meredith and Orsino begin to argue again, only for Anders to step forward.

  “...There can be no half-measures,” the voice is not Anders, not fully anyway. The sense of dread that comes from this realization is almost enough to bring her to her knees and she quickly removes her staff from her back, uncaring that the Templars around her draw their swords in response. Everything about him is screaming _Wrong_ to her, and if the others cannot feel it, it is only because they are blind.

  “Anders?” Hawke asks, sounding confused, “What have you done?” Fenris sends Marian a pitying look, that she cannot see that the abomination has finally turned out to be just as dangerous as everyone thought him to be. He draws his sword and tries to steady himself, even as the ground begins to shake beneath all of their feet. Everyone’s eyes are drawn towards the Chantry then as it begins to tremble.

  The lights appear first, red like blood, and as the shaking worsens the buildings around them begin to tremble, brick and wood and glass breaking and falling to the ground. Someone shouts something but it is lost in the sound of roaring, a sound that quickly builds and builds and builds until-

  The explosion is massive, a shockwave of force and sound that moves outward from the Chantry and into the surrounding city. There is screaming around them as rubble rains down, as people all across the city realize what has just happened.

  There is an almost eerie silence in the aftermath as everyone tries to reconcile what they have all just been witness to. The destruction of the Chantry, the murder of Grand Cleric Elthina.

 “I removed the chance for compromise,” Anders says and that, too, is just as important as the other two things.

  Fenris watches as Sebastian, one of the few people he considers his friend, falls to his knees. His heart aches for him and his stomach is sick, both from his friends pain and the utter destruction he has just witnessed. But it only worsens as Meredith steps forward again, face contorted into a mask of barely suppressed rage.

  “I hereby invoke the Rite of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed… Immediately!”

  Several things happen at once, very quickly. Both Hawke and Fenris rush to protect Bethany as Isabela and Varric move back to create a wall around Merrill. Aveline barely manages to hold back Sebastien who tries to charge Anders in order to kill him, just as Hawke screams at him not to.

  Their world is falling apart, as much as it was ever together. Ashes drift lazily around them, the only snow that Kirkwall will ever see.

  Templars descend upon them, quickly slaughtering many of the mages around them. Orsino shouts for them to return to the Gallows but most of them are too slow or just not experienced in battle, having spent their whole lives in the Circles. One of the Templars tries to reach for Bethany and Fenris, without flinching, cleaves them in two.

  When she sees this Bethany unleashes a lightning spell on another Templar and then encases them in ice, refusing to stand down now. To use her magic without restraint, after so many years, is indescribable. She could laugh, were it not for the situation. Instead she concentrates on unleashing as much damage as she can while avoiding being smited or silenced.

  The fight is short and when it is done they are all left panting, the bodies of fallen Templars and mages surrounding them. Orsino turns to Hawke and thanks her, before leaving to return to the Gallows. Bethany, instinctively, moves to join him only to be stopped by Fenris stepping in front of her.

  “Move,” she says, frowning deeply at him and trying very hard to not feel the sense of joy and relief that he is here in front of her, in person finally. “I need to rejoin the other mages.”

  Fenris stares at her, wondering if perhaps a piece of rubble had hit her head without any of them noticing.

  “You are staying here, where we can protect you,” he says with furrow brows, both confused and indignant that she would do otherwise.

  “I belong with my fellow mages, now stand aside.” She steps forward but comes up short when he still not move, playing the part of a bulwark.

  “Meredith just ordered the execution of every mage in Kirkwall, or have you forgotten that staff at your back?”

  “Which is all the more reason for me to leave. There are young mages trapped in those Gallows, apprentices, _children_ -”

  “Damn them all, I will not lose you again.” It is his words and the look in his eyes, of such loss, such sorrow, that stops her tongue. “I cannot stand it,” he says, voice a little softer this time and her own eyes become teary in response. “You cannot ask it of me.” She wants to reach out to him then, to assure him that she will not leave, but they are interrupted by the sound of Hawke talking softly to Anders.

  “Why?”

   “It had to be done. Now, maybe, people will see that the Circles are no solution.”

  “Oh Anders…” Hawke is hunched forward, tears streaming down her face. They mar the red stripe that rests across the bridge of her nose, that has become her hallmark. “You need to- You need to leave- They will-”

  “You intend to let him get away with this?” Sebastian strides forward, an expression of violence on his face, his family’s bow at his side. “He murdered the Grand Cleric, an innocent woman!”

  It is a sign of how terrible things have become that Anders does not argue this, only hunches forward more.

  “Stand back, Sebastian,” Hawke warns as she steps between the two men. She does not look like her sister then but the Champion, the woman who has stared down death and laughed in its face. Bethany is sick with fear suddenly- though she has always liked Sebastian he is obviously stricken by grief, and she mentally prepares herself to fight him off if he tries to attack her sister.

  Next to her Fenris tenses as well and, perhaps out of some instinct, she grasps his hand, feeling relief when he squeezes it back. This is all like some awful, surreal nightmare, but one which they cannot wake up from.

  “I will not- I will have his life. Or I will bring the full might of Starkhaven down on this city.”

  Hawke glares at the priest, letting out a noise that barely sounds human and then she stalks back to Anders. Bethany watches as Hawke removes one of her daggers and though she desperately wants to close her eyes she does not. She does not want Anders to die and though she will never admit it a part of her understands why he has done this. They, and they alone, both know what it is to have to try and live in the Circles. To try to survive beneath Templars that see them not as people but as threats.

  She squeezes Fenris’ hand tighter and he moves to place an arm around her and to pull her closer. “Do not watch,” he is murmuring, “You do not have to-”

  Anders does not close his eyes but instead chooses to face Marian. His eyes are soft, his expression one of calm acceptance. He is ready to be made a martyr.

  But instead of unsheathing her dagger Marian simply hands it to him, hilt first, and says, “Leave, and do not come back.”

  Sebastian lets out a cry of rage and indignation at her words and he charges forward to finish what Hawke refuses to start, only to be stopped when Fenris blocks his path with his broadsword.

  “Fenris,” he says, his hurt and confusion evident. “What is the meaning of this? You hold no more love for the abomination than I do.”

  “Hawke has made her decision,” he says, “Anders will have his life.”

  Sebastian stares at him for a moment and then at Hawke, his face contorted in a mask of barely contained rage.

  “So be it. But mark my words, I will return to Starkhaven and gather together an army that will ensure there is no Kirkwall for your precious Anders to have a life in.”

  Fenris stares back at him, unflinching, as do Hawke and Bethany and the others. Sebastian may be threatening but none of them are certain that there will be a city for him to invade after tonight.

  When both Sebastian and Anders are gone Hawke looks back at her remaining companions, her expression grim.

  “You heard Orsino, let's all get to the Gallows, now.”

  She takes off without a backward glance, knowing that more fighting is waiting for them and not just from the Templars either. Bethany watches as several mages she knew in the Circle turn to blood magic or become abominations but she continues on, having no other choice to do so. Her heart is sick with grief but it if can keep on beating so can she.

  The boat ride to the Gallows is quiet, the fighting distant enough that only the faintest of sounds carry to them. Still, as she stands at the bow of the small vessel she can see the distant flash of lightning and fire and ice, her fellow mages fighting back.

  Behind her the wood creaks and then Fenris is standing next to her, a hairsbreadth away, close but not quite touching.

  Neither know what to say to the other. So much time has passed, so much has happened.

  She moves the hand that has been laying limply at her side and brushes it against his, swallowing heavily when he grasps it tightly. As if he is afraid she will leave again. She closes her eyes and leans slightly against him, drawing in a shuddering breath. Never again, never again.

  The rest of that night and the early hours of the morning are consumed with fighting. She moves beyond fatigue, beyond feeling dead on her feet and into something that feels almost transcendent Still none of them stop- Not until the ground is littered with the dead and their boots squelch as they step through blood, until all but the smallest of fires have been put out, until Orsino is defeated and Meredith is a red, gleaming monument of lyrium and madness.

  The companions, the ones that remain, all vaguely crowd together. Hawke is standing off to the side, watching the sky over the city as it gradually begins to lighten. The smoke will likely block the sun for a few days but still, it tries. The Chantry used to obscure part of the rising sun but it is gone now, disappeared in a moment that none of them will ever forget.

  Varric finally approaches Hawke and Bethany watches as he speaks to her in the way that it sometimes seems only he can, so quietly that none of the others can hear. When they are done they return to the group. Her sister's eyes are shadowed with fatigue and, she thinks, failure and she has to stop herself from drawing her close.

  She has to clear her throat a few times but finally she speaks, voice rough from shouting and smoke.

  “Varric and I were talking and… And we agreed that I need to leave. There will be an investigation from the Chantry and they will come straight for me. Varric is going to stay, but Merrill, Bethy…” She looks at each of them in turn, her face grim, “It won't be safe for you. The Knight-Captain may have turned on Meredith at the last moment but…”

  “But any mages are still in danger,” it is Fenris who speaks and the surprise shows on Hawke’s face.

  “Yes,” she says and her eyes briefly flit down to where Fenris has taken her sister’s hand. She blinks and looks up at him before giving him the barest hint of a smile. It quickly dies however when Aveline steps forward.

  “I’m sure you understand my need to stay, Hawke.” Of course, Aveline also has Donnic and the city guard at her back.

  “I understand,” She replies, though her sadness is obvious in her expression, in the way her mouth twitches downwards. Bethany will miss Aveline too- it is hard not to think back to how they all came to Kirkwall together and how it seems wrong to leave without each other.

  Isabela smirks, trying to be irreverent as always but even her eyes are shadowed with fatigue and grief. “Varric and Lady Manhands may be staying but I know when to abandon a sinking ship.” Slinging an arm around Merrill she continues, “You all are welcome to join me and Kitten.”

  Hawke smiles slightly though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I could think of nothing better, Isabela.”

  Fenris and Bethany, after briefly looking at each other step forward and Fenris says, “If you will have us, we will join you.” They move as one, as if terrified as parting now that they have found each other again.

  “Of course sweet thing,” Isabela responds, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  


  Bethany stands at the side of Isabela’s ship, a vessel just a hair larger than the one that brought her and her family from Ferelden to Kirkwall. She hasn’t decided yet whether this passage will be better or worse. She is allowed above-deck instead of being stuck down in the bowels of the ship, able to feel the sting of salt and wind on her face, but her mother, her uncle, _Kirkwall_ , is gone. And yet the family she has now is so much larger than the one she came to Ferelden with.

  Behind her she hears the sound of footsteps padding over to her and she hides a smile when they stop just inches from her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, arms wrap around her waist and she lets out a small, contented sigh as she allows herself to lean back against the man holding her.

  “Fenris,” she says, eyes half-closed. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he replies, his voice low and still a little sleepy sounding.

  She recalls lying next to him in the night, listening to the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. It is a rhythm, and a particularly soothing one. One that seems to send her into a sleep where there are no dreams and no nightmares. It is… Good. All of this is, but that in particular.

  Curious she asks, “Have you had any more dreams since we left Kirkwall?”

  “No, none that I remember.”

  “Me neither,” she replies with a hum. It is strange, as so much has been, but also a relief.

  “I… Suppose it will not be necessary any more.” His voice is warm and when she twists slightly to look back at him she sees a small smile on his face. “We are together now, and I have no intention of separating from you.”  

  “Neither do I,” she says, her expression no doubt sickeningly sweet. Still, she cannot bring herself to care. After everything they have been through, all of the fighting and the destruction and the loss, she knows that they deserve this, at the very least.

  She turns around again then, leaning her head back against his shoulder. He is a warm presence around her, a pleasant contrast to the chill of the ocean air. She thinks of wrapping him further around herself, almost like a blanket.

  When she looks to the ocean, the crest and fall of the waves, the gulls circling and swooping overhead, she is no longer reminded of drowning. Taking a deep breath she exhales it slowly and feels finally loved, and free.

   


End file.
